When I'm Not Looking
by KatelynnBB
Summary: They see each other every day. She wears a wedding ring, and besides that Sullivan doesn't have time for distractions. He'll be forced to make time when murders start happening right on their doorstep. *Sullivan/OC*
1. The Burn

**Chapter One**

Every day she saw him.

Since his arrival in Kembleford there was not a day Emma Kennedy didn't clap eyes on the man. Not by her choice, mind you. It's just that he was there and she was there. Inspector Thomas Sullivan had been renting a room in her B&B since he blew into town a year ago. Every day she waited for him to tell her he was moving on, whether from Kembleford or just from her house she never knew. From the moment she first saw him she knew he'd be trouble. Something in his eyes, a coldness. It warned her to steer clear. His manners and demeanor were even more icy than his eyes, and so it was easy to stay away.

At first.

As he settled into life in Kembleford he seemed to warm a bit, and day after day he never left. Hers was the home he returned to at the end of every day, and it seemed to her that he was just fine with that. Sometimes in the evening he would nod as he passed by her before disappearing into his room. Most times though, she was in bed by the time his car rumbled into the drive in the wee hours of the night.

Sometimes in the morning he'd stop for a cup of coffee, but never breakfast. He would gruffly remark on the weather. When you see someone daily it is only natural to ponder on them. It's only natural when they cross your mind. A year had gone by and Emma realized she knew next to nothing about Inspector Sullivan, bar what she'd observed with her own two eyes or heard in passing from the local gossips. And she had begun to wonder who he was.

Who he _really _was. The person he relaxed into when he didn't have to be _inspector_.

He was on her mind a lot lately. She huffed to herself, she doubted she'd ever even crossed his mind. After all this time she probably just blended in to him. Just another piece of outdated furniture in the B&B.

Yes, she was sure that was exactly how he saw her.

Tom threw his jacket over his arm and tried to be quiet as he slipped into the B&B. It was late, and he didn't want to disturb Mrs. Kennedy. _Emma_, he silently corrected himself. He'd stayed at the office finishing paperwork so that Goodfellow could have an early night. The light in the kitchen was still on, odd. Not odd enough to divert him from his course though.

He was halfway up the stairs when a loud banging and a feminine shriek came echoing from downstairs. He tossed his jacket over the banister and headed to investigate.

"Mrs. Kennedy?" he cursed himself, "Emma?"

He found the woman at the sink running her hand under water. Her red hair was pinned immaculately into a bun. She was wearing a light blue apron. Something he was accustomed to seeing her wear.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

She jumped, "Inspector Sullivan. I didn't hear you come in." she blanched, "Or did I wake you?"

The corner of his mouth curved up in amusement at her Irish accent. "No, no. I'm only just arriving." he said.

He looked at the palm of her hand as she pulled it from the water. Pink blisters were already forming from what he assumed by the dropped tray of scones was a bad burn.

"What happened?" he asked.

"The cloth slipped as I was taking them out of the oven." she winced and stuck her hand back under the water.

"Right. Do you have any first aid items?"

Emma pointed to a cabinet and Tom fetched what was needed. He rolled up his sleeves and took her arm in his hands.

"This will probably hurt." he warned.

Emma gritted her teeth and nodded for him to continue. She glanced over into his icy eyes. He cleaned the burn and applied aloe before wrapping it lightly.

"Thank you." she told him.

"Of course." he answered curtly. "Take care. Goodnight." he handed her the first aid box and turned to go upstairs.

In an instant he was gone and Emma wondered if he was ever really there, or if it was all in her head.

Inspector Sullivan tossed his jacket down on the blue chair in his room. He sat on the bed and raked a hand through his perfectly styled hair. It had been a day. Topped off by finding his landlady in distress in the kitchen. He couldn't just leave her there. Well, he could have. A year ago he _would_ have. However, seeing her face every day for the past year had made him develop a soft spot for her.

Her face was kind, and she had a sweet smile. She was hardworking, and doing it all on her own as far as he could tell. Yes, he'd noticed the ring on her finger long ago. There was no husband about though. Sullivan figured he probably died in the war. A lot of men died in the war. He shuddered. Cold memories threatened to come alive inside his mind. He shut them out.

Instead he turned his thoughts back to the pretty red haired woman downstairs. He wasn't sure if that was any safer, but he did know that thinking of her didn't rip him to shreds inside. That was the closest he'd been to her...ever. The closest he had been to any woman in a long time.

He shed his clothes and started the shower. Hot water was what he needed after this long and tiring day. He often thought of Emma. He wondered what her bedroom looked like. Did the decor match the rest of the rooms here, or was it something different? Did she ever unpin her hair? How long was it? How did she take her tea? When you see someone daily, but know nothing about them it is only natural that these thoughts come to you.

At least that's what he told himself as he replayed their encounter a million times.

Downstairs Emma sat herself down in a chair and stared at her hand wondering what just happened. Tonight, Inspector Sullivan had a conversation with her for the first time since the day he checked in. He'd even bandaged her wound. And now more than ever she found herself wondering who he really was.

When he walked up those stairs and shed his shirt and kicked off his shoes, who was he? Did he pour a drink or read a book? Did he take a shower or fall into bed and sleep? Did he sit in the blue lounge chair and do paperwork? Emma knew these things were entirely none of her business, but sometimes a girl just wonders.

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	2. The Stranger

**Chapter Two**

_Two Months Later_

Emma couldn't stop thinking about that night. The night that Inspector Sullivan broke character and let his guard down. If only for a moment. The burn was completely healed. Just a pink layer of fresh skin now. Things went right back to normal and they fell easily back into their routine. She heard him getting ready in the mornings, saw him slip his hat on his head as he walked out the door, and saw him take it off every night when he returned. The man was an island no mistaking that.

Emma went about tidying up the guest rooms as she usually did, save for Sullivan's. He was her only live-in guest. The other three rooms were only rented out occasionally. She vacuumed the hallway, and dusted the pictures on the shelves. She noticed two of the rooms were out of soap. She'd need to remember to put that on her list. It was shopping day. Time to get her personal supplies and all the things that kept this B&B running.

She dragged the vacuum back downstairs and stuffed it back into the closet. Just as she was about to grab her basket the bell over the door rang and a man walked inside.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I'm lookin' for a room." the man answered.

Emma walked around the desk in the foyer, "All right then. And for how long will you be staying with us?"

"Just for tonight." he said.

"May I have your name?" she opened her book ready to fill in his information.

"John Smith." he said with a snicker.

Emma looked up. She doubted that was his true name, and when she saw the look on his face she became even more suspicious. Something wasn't right. She pushed the feeling down, even as the hairs on the back of her neck were standing.

He handed her his payment and she sat the key on the desk for him to pick up.

"You're in room 4. Upstairs, last door on the right. Breakfast is at seven in the morning." she told him.

He stared at the key a moment before slipping it into his pocket. Emma moved around the desk and towards the front door.

"Am I your only guest?"

Her hand was on the doorknob, "No. There's one other," she paused, "A police inspector. If you'll excuse me I need to see to the shopping."

She walked through the door and exhaled. Something about that man made her uneasy. Any other guest she would have escorted them to their room, but she couldn't make herself with that man. She'd never seen him before, and she could tell he wasn't from Kembleford.

As she browsed the shops she tried to put the uneasy feeling to the back of her mind. She decided to treat herself. She purchased some rose petals and rose oil for the bath, and some scented candles. The nights were turning colder, and candles always made her feel more cozy. She filled her basket several times over and scheduled a delivery for the groceries. Including a special tea she'd been dying to try.

She stopped by the dress shop. She hadn't had anything new in ages. There wasn't really a point. Her whole life was wrapped up in the B&B. She hardly ever went anywhere to warrant a new dress. Still, she ordered some simple floral material for a new apron. She glanced at her watch. It was getting late. If she went home now she could meet the delivery boy with her groceries.

Sullivan tapped his pen on his desk repeatedly. He couldn't focus. He was hungry. The walls of his green office seemed to be closing in around him. He dropped the pen and went to the door.

"Goodfellow," he called as he swung it open.

"Yes, sir?" Goodfellow looked up from his task at the main desk.

"I'm going for a walk." Sullivan grabbed his jacket and hat off the rack.

"Why don't you head home for the evening?" his sergeant asked. "It's past five."

"No, I have some more papers to file. I'm coming back. I just need a break. Staring at papers all day has given me a headache."

"Very good, sir."

"Can you have a fresh pot of coffee on when I return?" Sullivan asked.

"Of course, sir."

He shot the taller man a genuine smile and exited the police station. It was getting dark earlier now. The sun was setting. Shops would stay open until six, but then everything in the town except the Red Lion would shut down for the evening. He began to wish he'd brought his overcoat. The evening air was chilly. Leaves floated on a harsh breeze that had him turning up his collar. This reminded him of his patrolling days. A lifetime ago really. Before the horrors of war.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw red. Flaming red hair.

_Emma_.

Lord help him, he followed her with his eyes. She walked into the dress shop. He hated that he wondered why she needed a new dress. Had she met someone? Was she taking a trip? Either way it was entirely none of his business.

_Then why are you watching her?_

That stubborn voice inside his head talked a lot of sense. He shouldn't be watching his landlady. He should be getting his mind clear so that he could return to work. He would not allow himself to have any distractions. He would do his job to the best of his ability and that's all. He knew very well why he'd lived in Kembleford a year and still hadn't any friends.

He refused to put down roots because he knew, curses, he knew he wouldn't stay here forever. This town was like a spell, it had cast itself upon him. It would be hard, and probably painful to break free from it when the time came. As his eyes scanned the shop windows for another glance of _her_ he wondered if it was indeed the t_own_ who cast the spell, or simply the bewitching redhead with whom he shared a home.

With that thought he turned back towards the station. Reports weren't going to write themselves. The street lamps were lighting and the quicker he finished his work the quicker he could be home. He could smell the coffee brewing as he opened the door. Sergeant Goodfellow handed him a mug as he passed.

"Good man, Sergeant." Sullivan thanked him.

He left his office door open. He expected Goodfellow to come in and keep him company and help him file the reports away. He valued his sergeant's work ethic, and his companionship. He wouldn't call it friendship. He refused to call it friendship. As far as he was concerned he had no friends. Just people who were scattered throughout his day to day life. It was easier that way, all round.

He heard the phone ring on the desk in the lobby. He vaguely heard Goodfellow answer. He put away the papers he finished earlier and opened a new file.

"Sir?" Goodfellow knocked on his door.

"What is it?" Sullivan looked up from his papers, mug in hand.

"A body's been found."

"Where?" he sat his mug down.

Goodfellow looked at his notepad, "014 Rosewood Lane."

"014 Rosewood Lane..." Sullivan muttered, "I know that addr- Sergeant, that's where I live!"

Sullivan bounded around the desk forgetting his jacket and hat altogether. Goodfellow snatched them off of the rack and followed his boss out the door. Sullivan slid into the driver's seat as Goodfellow dashed to the car. His palms were sweating. His heart felt like it would beat through his chest and explode all over the steering wheel.

It couldn't be Emma. But it had to be. He was the only one staying. He was keenly aware it was just him and her under the same roof alone every night.

_So keenly aware_.

Maybe there was a robbery and she shot the person? Maybe a homeless vagrant wandered inside? His mind was racing and he hated himself.

_You're not supposed to care. _

_Not supposed to be attached._

He knew better. For all his distance and nonchalant attitude he cared about her.

And for that very reason alone...she couldn't be-

It took him less than seven minutes to arrive at the B&B. He slammed the car door and jogged up the driveway. He opened the garden gate, and it was only then that he slowed his pace. Whatever scene awaited them inside he needed to conduct himself professionally.

Through the glass-paned kitchen door he could see groceries in brown paper bags sitting on the counters. He pushed the door open and saw a man lying in a pool of blood. Relief flooded over him. It wasn't her. He heard movement and looked up just as she entered the room. She was crying, and pale as a sheet. Without thinking she went to him, and as an automatic response he opened his arms. She threw herself against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her as Goodfellow looked on awkwardly.

"Shh, it's all right." he cooed. He widened his feet and stepped to turn her away from the body. "Don't look." he whispered near her ear.

It was much too late for that as she was the one who had discovered the grizzly sight. He took her about the shoulders, "Who _is that_?" he asked urgently.

And even as the man lay dead he couldn't help but think back to seeing her enter the dress shop. Was he her lover?

"A, a man," she stuttered, "He checked in this afternoon."

"What's his name, Emma?" he stared into her eyes. She seemed far away and he wanted to shake her back to him. She looked down and he watched a tear fall from her eye.

"Emma! What's his name?"

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	3. The Spell

**Chapter Three**

Sullivan had gone hours ago. He told her not to worry about cleaning the kitchen. He said he would send someone. Emma was on her knees anyway, scrubbing out the last of the blood. The police had gone from he man's room a while ago. From the start the man who was now dead had given her an awful feeling. Now it was only intensified by the fact that there had been a murderer in her home. She shuddered and stood. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink and went about making sure the doors and windows were locked.

She looked at the clock. Almost midnight. The fires had gone out long ago and the house was cold. She hadn't noticed for working up a sweat while cleaning. The groceries were put away, and now the kitchen looked pristine. Her hands were shaking as she made her way to her bedroom and turned on the tap in the bathtub.

She poured half the bottle of rose oil into the bath water. Not on purpose, but her shaking caused her to pour more than she intended. She stripped down and sank herself down into the water. She breathed in the healing aroma. She wondered what time Sullivan would be back. Nothing new there, she always found herself wondering that.

By the time Emma finished her bath it was nearing 12:30. She put on her robe and went downstairs to make some tea. Her hands were still shaking as she put the kettle on. She braced herself on the counter and exhaled.

_What a day_.

Just then headlights flashed through the window. Emma went to the door and waited as Sullivan walked himself up the drive. She unlocked the door and let him inside.

"What are you still doing awake?" he asked as he stepped around her and inside.

She walked over to the stove as the tea kettle began to whine. Sullivan shut the door and locked it.

"Emma?" he said her name as a question, only a whisper.

"I couldn't sleep."

"After what you've been through today that's not surprising." he told her. "I told you not to worry about the mess,"

"I couldn't stand the smell or sight of it anymore."

For the first time in the year he'd lived at the B&B he shed his jacket and hat in the kitchen. He laid them over a chair instead of hanging them on the rack.

"Do you want some tea?"

"It's late. I should be getting to bed." he said. He was telling himself more than her because whatever spell had come over him was growing stronger by the minute.

She'd been through an ordeal today and he wanted to comfort her. He was telling himself that was the reason he was about to take her in his arms, but deep down he knew that wasn't it. He'd been put through it today when he thought Emma had been harmed. He needed to touch her, hold her as if to prove to himself that she was okay.

Emma poured him a cup and put the saucer into his hands. "Take it up with you. You look positively exhausted."

Sullivan took the saucer, his fingers barely making contact with hers. He knew he must look tired. He could feel his hair falling out of place and his eyes burned from exhaustion.

"Thank you." he whispered, "I'll need you to come down to the station tomorrow, if you can."

Emma paused thoughtfully, "Of course."

"I just need to ask some formal questions about when you discovered the, eh, when you came home today."

"All right. I'll be by first thing in the morning."

He offered what passed as a smile and rounded the corner. He pulled himself slowly up the stairs. Gravity was not his friend tonight. Was it his imagination or did she smell like roses? Her hair was damp he could tell. His mind was wandering. He reached the top of the stairs and squared his shoulders. He'd resisted the urge to hold her tonight when he was at his weakest. He now knew he was stronger than any spell.

Fictional as it was.

The next morning Sullivan checked all the doors and windows before he left the B&B. There was still a killer on the loose somewhere in Kembleford as far as they knew. When he arrived at the station Goodfellow was already brewing the coffee.

"What would I do without you, Sergeant?" Sullivan asked.

Goodfellow smiled in his simple polite way as he passed his boss a mug. Sullivan took it to his desk and began making his inquiry calls about the victim. _John Smith _was clearly not his real name, and with very little digging Sullivan uncovered his identity.

"Gotcha." he said to himself. "Sergeant!" he called for Goodfellow, "Looks like our John Smith is actually Donald Weaver. He's wanted in connection with a string of robberies from here to Bath."

"So no shortage of enemies, then." Goodfellow remarked.

"Indeed," Sullivan raised his eyebrows, "However, he supposedly tried ripping off his own brother two days ago."

"Did he indeed?"

"Care to venture where his brother lives?"

"Don't tell me sir, is it Kembleford?" Goodfellow grinned.

"Bingo," Sullivan stood from his seat, "Let's go pay this brother a visit."

The quicker he closed this case the sooner he could put Emma at ease. And himself for that matter. In his haste to close the case he completely forgot that Emma was coming in to make her formal statement. Thankfully, she walked in as they were heading to the car. Her hair was pinned at the nape of her neck, in the usual style she wore it.

"Emma," he greeted her, "I'm just on my way out. Tracking down a lead..." His eyes were shining under the brim of his hat, and Emma felt entranced.

"Oh." she couldn't think of anything else to say in response."

He took her gently by the arm and lead her outside.

"I can just take your statement at home tonight." he whispered.

"Can you do that?" she asked.

"Yes," he grinned at her. "I am the boss after all."

"Okay then. I'll see you tonight."

He watched her walk away. The gentle sway of her hips and the way her dress moved mesmerized him. He hated that he was falling victim of the spell of Kembleford, or Emma. Whichever it be, he was losing his grip. Events had conspired against him and his will power was sorely lacking.

Goodfellow cleared his throat bringing him back to the present. Without another glance he climbed in the passenger seat and they sped away.

"You know, Emma Kennedy is a lovely lady." Goodfellow said.

Sully had the feeling he was testing the waters so he nodded his agreement.

"Seems she's maybe taken a shine to you."

Sullivan shot him a dangerous glance.

"I'm only saying, sir."

"She's my landlady, Sergeant."

Goodfellow took the hint and dropped his line of inquiry. He wasn't the only one of his officers who gently or not so gently prodded him about dating. Seems none of them could believe he was still single. After all, an eligible man who was in his late thirties and unmarried was not a common thing in the country. In the city people cared less, but here...oh here everyone was in everyone else's business,

They didn't know that he had been engaged once upon a time. Before the war. He was only a lad. Really had no business promising a woman anything, but still he did. And then the war came and he was standing shoulder to shoulder with other boys fighting for their king and country.

Meanwhile _she_ took off the ring he'd worked so hard to give her. Meanwhile _she_ met another man. _She_ wrote him a Dear John letter, and when he returned home from the front _she_ was no where to be found. That terribly humiliating experience had made him swear off love. For good.

He tried to remind himself of that, but yet here he was falling for Emma.

A woman with a wedding ring on her finger.

_Spellbound_.

Sullivan turned to his sergeant, "Speaking of Mrs. Kennedy, what happened to her husband?"

Goodfellow swallowed, "Some say he died, though no funeral was had round here leastways. Others say he left her for a dancer he met in London. No one really knows, sir."

"She still wears a ring..." the dark-haired man pondered to himself.

"I noticed that too." Goodfellow chimed in.

Sullivan glared at him.

"Looks like we're here, sir."

They drove up the lane to Jeffrey Weaver's home. One thing was for sure, Inspector Tom Sullivan was ready to close this case. He needed things to get back to normal. The way he'd been surviving the past year was fine by him. He really preferred to keep things simple.

_My way_.

Yes, he lived his life on his own terms, but here in Kembleford all that was put to the test on a regular basis. From the snooping priest to his mysterious and beautiful landlady. Not to mention a man being murdered where he slept every night. He was losing his control over his own life. Closing this case would hopefully restore some order to things, and break the spell over him.

_Hopefully_.


	4. The Edge

**Chapter Four**

_"Break me like a promise."_

Emma waited in the kitchen for Tom to get home. She put the kettle on the stove and finished tidying up while she waited. At 9:30 his headlights flashed in the window and a few minutes later he sauntered up the walk. Emma swallowed hard. She was so curious about this man. His job, his reason for coming to Kembleford. Tom Sullivan seemed like an ambitious man. Kembleford definitely wasn't the place to further one's career.

Why would a man drag himself all the way out here? Why would he never find a more permanent living situation? Emma didn't flatter herself to think that it was because of her. She had no reason to think it was...

Until last night. Was she just imagining the way he held her in his arms?

_For goodness sake there was a dead man on the floor, Emma! _

Tom opened the door and all her thoughts disappeared. He never truly smiled. It made her sad. He didn't say a word as he hung his jacket on the back of a chair and tossed his hat on the table. His hair fell in his eyes a little. She had the urge to push it back into place.

She made him a cup of tea and sat it in front of him before taking her seat on the other side of the table. He fiddled with the handle on the cup, his eyes flitting up to hers every now and then. Finally, he brought the cup to his lips.

"This is good tea," he commented as he pulled out some papers from his jacket.

"Thank you. It's something new."

He slid the papers over to her. "Just write down your statement. Be sure to include times. Put your signature there at the bottom. Then, I'll need you to fill out these two forms."

He handed her a pen and she got to work. He watched her openly as she wrote.

"How's your hand by the way?" he asked.

Emma held out her hand to him, "It's fine. Good as new."

He reached out and held her palm between his fingers examining the healing.

"It looks good," his fingers slid over her wedding band and he circled it with his fingertips.

She almost pulled her hand away, but she couldn't bring herself to withdraw from his touch. It was him who took his hand away, and placed it safely back onto his teacup.

"You wear a ring."

It was a statement and a question.

Emma nodded her head as she continued to write.

"Are you married?" he asked.

He really hated himself for it. He really despised feeling this way. He was going against his own set of rules. Never get attached.

_Too late for that, old boy_.

And with that thought he waited impatiently for her answer.

"No," she whispered "I'm divorced."

Divorce wasn't part of the picture he'd painted of Emma. He always assumed she was a widow. A casualty of war. He wasn't sure he'd ever even met a divorced woman before.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. It's none of my business," he sat straight in his chair again.

She signed the final form and pushed them his way.

"Don't apologize. It was five years ago. I'm quite over it now,"

He looked at her. For the first time he noticed she had light freckles scattered across her cheeks. She looked like a fairytale. Some Irish legend come to life. She looked so young. Granted, she wasn't old by any means. Younger than him, he reckoned. She definitely didn't look old enough to be divorced. He was curious. He wanted to know more. Specifically what kind of man would leave the kind of woman sitting before him? A fool.

"Any progress on the case?" she asked as she sipped her tea.

The Weaver Farm had left the police with more questions than answers. When they arrived he and Goodfellow found the body of Jeffrey Weaver in the barn. He was dead. Shot just like his brother. The whole thing gave Tom a bad feeling. Something was going on behind the scenes that he couldn't see. Two brothers both shot dead. He was still waiting on the report, but he was willing to bet they were both killed on the same day.

By the same person.

"I'm not allowed to talk about police business," he said gruffly.

"Of course. I'm sorry I asked." she apologized.

He put his elbows on the table and leaned in towards her. His hair fell even further in his eyes. "I understand you're nervous, but you don't need to be."

"Why, because the killer got who they were after and they won't be back?" she said just a little sarcastically.

"No. Because_ I'm _here."

"Oh," she breathed out as a whisper.

He was beginning to become enchanted as her cheeks blushed themselves pink. He lowered his gaze to the rise and fall of her chest. It was hypnotizing. Was it just his mind or was she breathing faster than normal? His mind was going places. Dangerous places.

"I should get to bed," he stood from the table with the papers.

Emma nodded slowly as he walked away. He was almost around the corner when she stopped him.

"Inspector Sullivan!"

"Yes?"

She left her tea on the table and walked over to him.

"Can I ask you something?" Emma didn't know where this newfound boldness was coming from but she wasn't about to waste it.

"Sure," he smoothed a hand down over his vest and stood up straight.

"Why are you still here? At the B&B I mean... Surely you would want to find some place more permanent." her green eyes searched his intently.

He exhaled, "I like to keep things simple. I don't intend to stay in Kembleford forever. That being said, it's just easier to live somewhere I can pay monthly without a lease."

It was harshly honest, and not what she wanted to hear. Then again, no one had ever accused Sullivan of being a warm man. She thought maybe there was a spark between them, but turns out he was just as frigid as he'd always been.

"That makes perfect sense. Thank you for quelling my curiosity," she forced a weak smile.

He nodded curtly and turned to make his way upstairs. Emma put their teacups in the sink and walked down the hall to her bedroom where she locked the door and tried not to fall into a million pieces. There must be something genuinely wrong with her. Most days she was at ease with being alone. She had become familiar with the sensation long ago, long before her ex husband Nate left her. He'd been living in sin with another woman for a year before he finally filed for divorce.

She still wore her ring even though she despised that man. He humiliated her and broke her heart, but she still couldn't bring herself to take it off. Maybe someday, but not tonight. No, tonight she would lay in her bed and think about what was going on upstairs. It was unhealthy, she knew. He would never be interested, she knew. Still she imagined the person he was when the rest of the world wasn't looking.

Sullivan unhooked his suspenders and threw his vest across the room. The words he said hurt Emma. He could see it in her eyes. He sighed heavily and threw himself down on the bed. He felt like his affection for her was carrying him away, and he needed to take some control back. It was mean. It wasn't fair. But it was true. Wasn't it? Those were the reasons he didn't move in somewhere more permanent. What was wrong with telling the truth?

_Stop_, he chastised himself. _Not what you said but the way you said it._

Emma had been through a lot in the past few days, and it was his own fault for acting on his emotions. He wanted to do a lot more than act. He wanted to-

He rolled out of bed. Those were dangerous thoughts. He dragged out his notes on the case to take his mind off of Emma, but it was moot. He thought about whether or not she was in bed. She could be reading a book, or cleaning. Maybe she was in the kitchen still? She was always so quiet and put together. Her question really caught him off guard. That was no excuse, but...it's all he had. He wanted to apologize.

Instead, he focused on the case notes. He knew that Donald Weaver had attempted to rob his brother Jeffrey, and then at some point after that both brothers were murdered. By the morning he should have the ballistics report, and then he would know if the same gun killed both brothers. He knew he was missing something, but with his head clouded with thoughts of the redhead downstairs he doubted he'd be able to figure anything out.

He put his head in his hands and exhaled. This was going to be a long night.

**Lyrics- Taylor Swift**


	5. The Woman

_**Thank you to anyone who is reading this! I appreciate it so much! Please leave a review and let me know your thoughts!**_

**Chapter Five**

_"The sweetest sadness in your eyes."_

Inspector Sullivan must have been gone before the sun came up Emma surmised. She had been awake since six and she never heard him leave. When she looked out the window his car was gone. She hoped there was a break in the case soon. Despite what he told her last night she was still a bit uneasy, even with him there.

She wished she could be a fly on the wall of his office. She'd seen the way he took charge at the crime scene and she was curious to see more of the way he handled his work life. Was he always so gruff and exact? She knew he had a softer side. He'd shown it to her, if only for a moment. She longed for more. She knew that it was foolish, however she couldn't help herself.

She heard the bell over the front entrance and walked into the foyer.

"Good morning, can I help you?" she asked.

A woman walked inside and up to the desk, "I'd like a room please."

Emma opened her book, "How many nights would you like?" she asked the woman.

"I'm not entirely sure yet. One or two." she tucked her black hair under her pretty hat.

Emma guessed the woman was about forty, maybe younger by a year or two. She was beautiful with brown eyes. She wore heavy makeup, topped by dark purple lipstick. It was odd to see a woman in these parts painted up so much.

Emma smiled warmly, "Wonderful. If you need to stay any longer just let me know. What name shall I put this under?" Emma looked around the woman wondering if her husband was following behind.

"Augustina Webb." the woman answered.

"All right Ms. Webb. I have you written down. Here is your key." Emma passed the key to her as she walked around the desk. "If you want to follow me I'll show you to your room."

Emma lead the way up the stairs with Augustina following closely behind.

"Lovely home you have here," the older woman noted.

"Thank you," Emma answered.

"I detect an accent. Galway?" Augustina asked.

Emma chuckled, "Dingle."

At the door Emma unlocked it with her master key and lead her new guest inside.

"There's fresh linens and toiletries. Breakfast is at seven every morning. If you need anything feel free to ring me downstairs, or leave a note on the desk." she smiled and turned to leave.

"Am I your only guest?"

Emma froze in the doorway. Once more the hairs on her neck stood up at the echoed question. A cold surge ran down her spine, like someone slipped a cube of ice down her dress.

"No, ma'am," she forced a smile, "I have a live in guest at the moment."

Tom's face flashed in her mind. He was more than just a "live in guest" to her.

The woman nodded her head in response and Emma made her exit. Unlike with the dead man who had asked this time Emma didn't volunteer the identity of her live in guest. She didn't know why, she just didn't.

Once again she had an uneasy feeling. She felt safe when Tom was home. Unfortunately for most of the day he wasn't. She decided to take a walk to the police station. She felt a bit awkward about last night. Maybe she'd bring him some lunch and apologize. Yes, she thought that's exactly what she would do.

Inspector Sullivan sat with his head leaning on his palm. He had a headache. He hadn't slept last night, hardly at all. Half upset with himself over Emma, thinking about what she was doing, what she looked like when her inhibitions were down... The other half of him was uneasy about the case. Between the two he was going to get an ulcer.

He knew what he could do about it. He could test the waters with Emma. He could flirt with her and eventually have his way. He knew he wasn't the only one feeling whatever was between them. Maybe if he touched the flame he could extinguish it once and for all. Or maybe it would consume him.

He couldn't take that chance. Not after all the work he'd put into becoming the man he was today. He couldn't risk falling for anyone... Not when he knew nothing was forever. Not love. Not life. Not his post in Kembleford...

"Knock knock," a sweet feminine voice called through a crack in his office door.

He sat up, "Come in. What are you doing here?"

She closed the door behind her and sat a basket on his desk. "Honestly I wanted to apologize about last night. So, I brought you some lunch."

"You didn't have to do that," he stood.

"I know, but-"

"I mean you didn't have to apologize, Emma. I was rude. I behaved ungentlemanly. I'm the one who is sorry," he said.

Her mouth turned up in a little grin causing her freckles to dance. "Truce, then." she stuck out her hand.

He looked at it, and gave in taking her hand in his, "Truce,"

Her hand was so porcelain and soft compared to his darker larger hand. It struck him just how _womanly_ she was. He withdrew his hand with great reluctance.

"I came to tell you something else," she propped her hip on the desk with a familiarity he'd not seen in anyone. "There's a guest at the B&B. A woman. She's alone, but..."

She looked at him intently, not quite sure how to put what she wanted to say.

"Go on..." he prompted her.

"Maybe it's having a new guest so close after...what happened."

"It could be."

She bit her lip nervously, "Right, well I should let you get back to work."

She turned to go. A whiff of her perfume floating in the air.

"Emma," he called.

She spun around in the doorway.

"Thank you," he put his hand on the basket.

She smiled sweetly at him. Then she was gone. Leaving him missing her presence.

**Lyrics- Alison Sudol**


	6. The Flame

**Chapter Six**

_"I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head."_

When Sullivan got home that evening the house was dark. He kicked himself for being disappointed that Emma wasn't awake. It was just as well, and he knew it was true. At what point would he put an end to his self isolation? At what point would he just give in and let himself_ feel_?

He huffed to himself as he climbed the stairs. What he needed was a stiff drink, and a hot shower. He stared at the case files for so long today he couldn't tell what was what. They were making virtually no progress on the case. He was almost desperate enough to go to Father Brown for help...almost.

He unlocked his door and threw his briefcase down onto the floor. It landed with a thud and he regretted it. He walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The hot water began to steam up the small space. He shed his jacket and unbuttoned his vest, tossing them both onto the bed. He unbuttoned his shirt, stopping midway when he noticed something odd.

He couldn't remember exactly, but he was almost sure that things were out of place on his desk. The desk was unlevel, and when you opened the drawer it made pens or pencils slide to the opposite side of the desk. Which is where his pen was now located. Maybe he just didn't put it back in its place, but...

Perhaps Emma came in and straightened his room. Why would she open his drawers? She wouldn't. In a year Emma never came into his room to clean, upon his request. He shook it off. He'd ask her tomorrow and if she hadn't then clearly he just forgot to move his pen back.

He finished undressing, stepping into the spray of the hot water.

_What's she doing now?_

Tom never ate breakfast at the B&B, until now. He strolled into the kitchen at seven sharp and there she was. Wearing her blue apron. Her hair pinned in a bun. The flame of her hair contained on top of her head. What man wouldn't want to unleash that fire? You'd have to be crazy to not want to, he thought to himself.

"Good mornin'," she said.

"You seem surprised to see me," he took a plate from the table behind her. His face coming dangerously close to hers.

"Well," she shrugged, "Maybe a little. Checking up on me?"

"Now why would I do that?" he gazed intently into her eyes. They were flirting. Even he could tell, and the sad fact was he couldn't help himself. Emma was an ocean he wanted to dive in.

"I was going to ask you, you didn't by chance straighten up my room?"

Emma blinked, "Of course not."

Tom looked down and muttered something under his breath. Just then, her other guest walked into the breakfast room.

"Morning," Emma acknowledged her.

"Good morning," Augustina said as she approached them. Her black hair was tucked and curled neatly under her hat.

Tom's face turned to stone. The look he had so much of the time.

"You must be the other guest? A police officer, how exciting." she remarked.

Emma's eyes narrowed slightly. She picked up on a hint of flirtation from her new guest towards Tom, and darn herself she was jealous.

Tom nodded and sat his plate down. The woman seemed intent on staying to converse and he just wasn't about that. He turned to walk away, tossing a glance over his shoulder at Emma. Her eyes were saying don't go, but she didn't speak a word.

"I might need lunch today, if you could see your way to the station at some point?" he turned and called to her.

She smiled, "Sure,"

Without another word or stolen glance he left. He was rolling his eyes at himself.

He told himself he wasn't getting in too deep. He'd taken lovers in the past without getting attached. None of them were Emma though...He had a feeling there was no one like her.

"He's a handsome bloke," her guest noted.

"Yes," Emma agreed.

Maybe she was just a bit too starry-eyed.

"And he lives here? How does your husband feel about that?"

Emma didn't like the woman's questions, or her overbearing nature.

"My husband is no longer with me."

That's just what she usually told people who asked questions that were none of their business.

"Oh! I am sorry," the lady commented.

Emma smiled graciously and excused herself. She wondered why Tom asked her about cleaning his room. She would certainly ask him this afternoon. She went to her room and shut the door. She waited until she heard her guest's footsteps climbing the stairs before she emerged.

At noon Sullivan was staring at the clock. He was on hold with the Chief Constable's office. He hadn't forgotten about asking Emma to bring him lunch. In fact it was all he'd been thinking about.

Emma knocked on his office door and peeked her head inside.

"Come in," he told her as he waved her inside. She sat across from him as he finished his phone call. She held the basket in her lap as her eyes wandered the room. Books on the shelf, and magazines stacked alongside them told her that he liked to read. She silently wondered when he'd ever have the time. At last he placed the phone down onto the base.

"Hello," he folded his hands on his desk. Emma sat the basket in front of him. "I hope you know lunch delivery isn't included with your monthly rate." she teased.

Tom stood and walked around the desk, leaning against it in front of her. "I never thought it was."

She stood. Her proximity to him making him dizzy. Or maybe just a bit...unsteady.

"Before I forget, why did you ask if I'd been cleaning your room?" she propped a hand on her hip.

He shrugged, "I felt like some of my things had been moved, but I've been distracted lately. I probably just forgot that I moved them."

Emma's mind first went to her newest guest and the odd feeling she had about her. Secondly though, it picked up on what Tom had said. "Why have you been distracted?"

Once again she caught him off guard. This time though, his defenses were down. "Well," he took a step in her direction, leaving very little room between them, "With the murders happening so close to home it's been more strenuous than usual. The pressure is quite...intense."

He didn't quite know how it happened, but his hand was smoothing over her shoulder now. She was looking at him with new eyes. The kind of look he'd only fantasized about receiving from her.

"And of course, I've been worried about keeping you safe," It came out as a rough whisper. Like a dirty little secret he never wanted to see the light of day. It was too late.

"I'm as safe as I can be," she whispered back.

He knew she meant because he was in the house every night, but he wondered if she knew she wasn't that safe at all. Every inch of him wanted to ignite the spark between them. He wanted to watch it grow to a flame. A flame as red as her hair. Oh, how he wished to set those fiery locks free. He wanted to see them tumble and bounce. He wanted to feel them slipping through his fingers.

"Emma-"

Just then the door burst open. "We've got a call, sir." Goodfellow said breathlessly.

In a moment whatever he was about to say, or do, was pushed back down where he'd been keeping all his feelings. His hand fell from her shoulder. He brushed past her to retrieve his jacket and hat. He shot one last glance her way, and turned to go. Emma was left standing alone.

Her pulse was misbehaving, and if she didn't know better she would have sworn Tom Sullivan was about to kiss her. She was curious, oh so curious as to what his lips would taste like.

_**I don't own Father Brown. **_

_**Lyrics belong to Blue October.**_

_**Review/fav/follow :)**_


	7. The Kitchen

**Chapter Seven**

_"You love me, but you don't know who I am."_

If he didn't wrap these cases up soon...He didn't want to think about it. He and Goodfellow bounced ideas off each other on the ride back to the station. Nothing made sense anymore. He trodded into his office and caught sight of the basket Emma dropped off earlier.

He was starving, but couldn't bring himself to eat. He knew he needed to though. If he didn't take care of himself he would be no use to anyone. He sat twiddling his thumbs and snacking on crackers until he finally made up his mind about what to do.

He picked up the phone. It rang three times.

"Hello Father."

It was late, as usual when Tom made his return home for the night. He could see Emma's bedroom light on down the hall. He was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, but he managed to resist. Instead, he quietly climbed the stairs. The pieces were coming together, albeit slowly, on the case. They had no idea as to motive, or suspect. What they did know was manner of death. Two men had now been found shot dead by the same person.

Tom had suspicions about the type of person they were looking for, but decided to keep them to himself for now. As he unlocked his door he had an uneasy feeling. He chalked it up to his emotions about what happend, or a_lmost_ happened between he and Emma earlier.

He tossed his keys on the desk and threw himself down in the chair. He poured himself a whiskey and stared out the window into the darkness.

Meanwhile the Father's words played in his mind.

_"Two murders right under our noses." Father Brown muttered._

_"Yes," _

_"My guess is there's something we're missing,"_

_"Yes! I have deduced that much already, Father! Have you got anything new to add?" _

Somewhere out there was a killer. A cold-blooded murderer who had been in the B&B at some point. It seemed he was always one step ahead.

_"It could be what we're missing is something right under our noses, or rather someone. When you think of a multiple murderer who is the last person you'd suspect?" Father Brown questioned._

_"A priest?" he remarked sarcastically._

_"Even less than a priest," Father Brown raised his eyebrows._

_His mind instantly went to Emma. Then he understood._

Sullivan swallowed down the last of the alcohol, and sat the glass on the floor. He leaned his head back and sighed heavily. He was waging a war on himself and he finally decided it wasn't worth the fight. He stood and slipped his jacket off, and tossed it on the bed.

Emma was in the kitchen preparing for breakfast in the morning. She tried to sleep, but it was no use. She still was having a hard time resting. It seemed like so much in her world had been thrown off balance recently. There was a strange energy hanging over the B&B. Emma couldn't tell if it was from the murder, her newest guest, or Inspector Sullivan's increasing familiarity with her.

She bent to put a tray of scones in the oven. Her mind strayed back to that night before everything went awry. Maybe somehow that unexpected and out of character act from Sullivan had triggered the events that had befallen them soon after and ever since. She wiped the flour off of the counter.

"Still awake?"

Tom's voice pierced through her thoughts like the sharpest of arrows. She turned around and dropped the towel she was holding.

He chuckled, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you,"

She relaxed, "It's all right. I'm jumpy tonight for some reason."

He walked towards her, step by step getting closer. His eyes analyzing her face. The curve of her lips, the golden flakes in her deep green eyes.

"There was something I wanted to tell you earlier in my office," he sounded out of breath. His hands were curled into fists at his side.

He was standing in front of her now. Her back was against the counter. If she wanted to run she had no where to go. But she didn't. She had no intentions of running. She had no intentions of letting this moment escape.

"I had a feeling you did. What was it?" she whispered.

It happened in slow motion, he slid his hand behind her neck and brought her lips to his. It wasn't slow or altogether passionate. It was needy, and fierce. His lips crushed against hers. His arm reached behind her and braced against the counter, leaning her back onto it.

Emma raked her fingers through Tom's jet black hair, messing up his carefully put together image. She could feel the blood rushing to her face. His lips slid across hers so dangerously. He didn't care. He finally reached his breaking point, and there was no going back. He carefully bit her bottom lip causing her to emit a quiet moan.

It pushed him over the edge. He moved his hand from the counter to her back and pressed their bodies together. It had come to this. His brain was trying to rationalize, trying to talk him down from the heights he was climbing. He kissed her harder, in an attempt to drown out rationality. He needed to control something in his life, and yet he couldn't even control himself.

He broke their kiss and took a deep breath, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I'm not sorry for that," he whispered softly.

Emma wiped her mouth with her fingertips, "Nor I,"

She reached up to touch his face. She pushed his hair back into place and giggled when it fell back down into his eyes. He caught her hand in his.

"Was I out of line?" he pondered out loud.

She wrapped her arms around him.

"Don't let me interrupt," a feminine voice announced.

Tom and Emma broke apart.

"I figured there was something going on here," Augustina wiggled her finger toward them.

Emma's pale cheeks turned crimson.

"I can assure you that nothing inappropriate is happening." Tom stepped in front of Emma ready to defend her honor.

Her guest chuckled, "Well, from what I saw I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Emma blanched and Tom looked annoyed.

"Oh, don't worry. Your secret is safe with me." the woman turned away and disappeared around the corner.

Emma put her hands on her cheeks, "Oh my word. Something about that lady makes my skin crawl."

"_Lady_ might be exaggerating a tad,"

"Tom! Don't be uncharitable." Emma scolded him lightly and with a smile.

He sighed and tossed her a glance. He didn't know what to say so he tried to let his eyes convey the message.

"I should get to bed," she said.

"As should I,"

"Goodnight, Tom." she told him.

He watched her walk away thinking that he liked the sound of his name on her lips.

**Lyrics- 3 Doors Down**


	8. The Gentleman

**Chapter Eight**

_"You know it could be so much better than it's been."_

Tom laid in bed, but it was all for nothing because he couldn't sleep. It had been...a long time since a woman set his blood to pumping like Emma. In fact he would wager that _no one_ had ever sent his blood to pumping like her. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and his feet hit the hardwood floor with a thud.

It was all out in the open now. No going back. He'd done it tonight. Kissed her. He didn't want to stop. If he wasn't a gentleman he wouldn't have. He braced his hands on his knees. His mind was wandering. He thought about what she looked like in her night gown. Something a _gentleman_ shouldn't be imagining. What's worse, his thoughts didn't stop there.

It was taking all his will power not to march himself downstairs and into her room. He could. He knew he could and he could easily persuade her to say yes...

But he wouldn't. He didn't want her like _that_. No, he wanted all of her. He sighed, that was something he would never truly have. With that sobering thought he threw himself back in bed and shut his eyes.

Emma was up before the sun preparing for breakfast. Her hands were busy at their task but her mind was a million miles away. Well, actually her mind was just upstairs. It was settled on a man she knew was probably dangerous, but she couldn't help herself. From day one she was drawn to him. At first she thought it was only his mysterious nature, but no. Now that the mystery had been revealed to her she wanted him more than ever.

Her hands washed a bowl in the sink as she stared out the window into the garden. She thought about the way Tom pushed her up against this very counter last night. She could feel her cheeks blushing.

"Good morning," Augustina's voice interrupted her thoughts.

She dropped the bowl into the water.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." she patted Emma on the shoulder.

"You're all right. I was just off in another world apparently." Emma chuckled.

"So it would seem. It wouldn't have anything to do with the handsome police inspector upstairs now would it?" her guest teased.

"No," Emma dried her hands on a towel. "I was just making a grocery list in my head."

"Mhm," the older woman was not convinced. "Can I give you a peice of womanly advice?"

Emma didn't want to seem unkind so she agreed.

"Don't play hard to get. If you want him, let him know." she winked.

Once again Emma felt her cheeks burn. She heard Tom coming down the stairs, but instead of coming into the breakfast room he walked right out the front door. Emma's heart dropped to the floor. She glanced at the clock. He was running a bit behind, he probably just wanted to get to work.

Tom shut the front door and headed for his car. He was late for work. He was certain that any minute now Goodfellow was going to come in search of him. He straightened his tie, and slipped behind the wheel of the car. One last look toward the house and he sped away.

Goodfellow met him at the station door, "I was about to come in search of you, sir."

"Yes, sergeant I know." Sullivan said sarcastically. "Anything to report?"

"Yes, actually. Some foreign fingerprints were found on the barn door at the Weaver farm. As far as we know he didn't have any farm hands. The prints don't belong to him or his brother."

Sullivan sat down in his chair and sighed. "More questions and no answers."

Goodfellow pursed his lips and shook his head in agreement. The inspector's phone started ringing and Goodfellow showed himself out.

Sullivan answered, "Kembleford Police."

The Chief Inspector's voice boomed over the line, and he knew he was in for it. With two murders in as many days and no closer to solving either one he had been waiting for this call.

"If it's too much for you Sullivan I'll send someone down to give you a hand,"

"That won't be necessary, sir." Tom said confidently.

"Regardless, Tom I'll be sending someone to take over the investigation if some progress isn't reported soon."

It was the final word he knew. "Yes, sir."

He heard a click on the other end. Might as well have been a baton to the head. He considered himself a well put together man, but in that moment of pure frustration he felt like hurling the phone across the room. Instead, he took himself to the evidence room. Two murders. Two crime scenes, and yet hardly any evidence.

He spent hours going over what they had. By the end of the day he was beginning to doubt himself. Beginning to doubt his skills as an investigator. Lord knows the meddling priest had outsmarted him on more than one humiliating experience. Now was no time to be giving way to his self pity he knew.

Goodfellow appeared with a cup of tea. "Why not have a break, sir?"

Sullivan sat the evidence back on the shelf and took the teacup from his sergeant's hands. "I'm not getting anything accomplished anyway,"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Goodfellow encouraged him.

"If I don't make progress soon they're going to send someone down here to take over the investigation! So you see, I have to find_ something_,"

Goodfellow didn't know what to say, so he turned to go.

"Thank you for the tea," Sullivan said quietly.

He was so tired. He thought about sleeping in his office so he wouldn't have to drive home. With reluctance he closed the door to the evidence room, handed his cup over to Goodfellow and grabbed his things. He was not going to find a breakthrough when he could barely keep his eyes open.

He dragged himself through the front door and looked down the hall. All was dark so he climbed the stairs. To his chagrin the other guest was exiting her room.

"Good evening, Inspector," she said cheerfully.

Sullivan offered a rather lame "Evening," and turned to unlock his door.

"I believe Mrs. Kennedy is still awake," she said as she passed by behind him.

Tom nodded curtly and stepped into his room and promptly closed the door. He was too tired to hold a conversation with anyone...including Emma, and especially Ms. Webb.

One day had passed since he and Emma shared their moment. Deep down Sullivan really thought that kissing her, taking her as he had would rid him of this blasted obsession for her. He had a need for her. A need he _thought_ he satisfied. Fulfilled in a desperate, burning kiss that took him off guard. Even as he descended the stairs that night he wasn't sure what his plan was. Then he saw her and realized there was nothing for it.

What he thought would burn like a flash in the pan was revealed to only be the kindling for what he felt for her. The truth slowly occurred to him that he cared about her. A great deal. More than was good for him. He didn't want to be smashed to bits again.

Not ever again.

He had bigger things to worry about now, regardless. He was given a deadline to solve the case. If he failed to meet that deadline Scotland Yard would send someone else to work the case. He couldn't have that. The next morning he knew what he had to do. It was time to pay another desperate visit to the Father.

The priest was sitting in his study behind his desk. Sullivan entered the room and removed his hat. He tossed it onto the desk and plopped himself down into the chair with a sigh.

"I need your help, Father."

**Lyrics- Hanson**


	9. The Truth

**Chapter Nine**

_"In my head there's only you now."_

Father Brown had clearly been expecting him.

"Do you rememeber what I told you when we last spoke?"

"Yes, about the least likely," Inspector Sullivan answered.

"With that in mind, perhaps I should pay a visit to the crime scene? Fresh eyes couldn't hurt."

"Absolutely out of the question!"

Father Brown licked his lips, "Well then maybe it's time you take another look at the scenes yourself."

He didn't need to look at the B&B. He went over that place extensively. No evidence was left there he could be sure. The Weaver farm was another story.

"Thanks for your time, Father." Sullivan said in parting.

He grabbed his hat and turned to go, bumping into Sid who had apparently slipped in unnoticed.

"Carter." he acknowledged him and then he was gone.

Father Brown and Sid stared after him. The Father had a bad feeling. There was an evil scent hanging over Kembleford, and he feared the Inspector was in over his head.

Tom took himself back to the office to go over the priest's words. He plopped down heavily into his head was pounding. He felt a migraine coming, but there was work to be done. He knew he wouldn't find the answers he was seeking by sitting here in his office. He stood and fetched his jacket and hat.

"Goodfellow, come on." he beckoned his sergeant.

"Where to sir?" Goodfellow walked around the desk.

"Back to the Weaver Farm."

They walked out into the blaring sunlight, a rarity in Kembleford.

"I want to go over that place with a fine toothed comb," Sullivan said as they got in the car.

"We already have," Goodfellow offered.

"No, you and I had a look around, and looked at the body. We didn't analyze the scene."

It was true enough. The other officers gathered the evidence, and there wasn't much of it to be had. That made Sullivan uneasy. He had to see for himself if they missed anything. He needed to set his own eyes on the scene once more.

"Fair enough," Goodfellow answered.

They scoured the perimeter first and found nothing. Less than nothing. Then the team moved inside. Sullivan took the bedroom and Goodfellow took the kitchen. Half an hour ticked by with neither of them speaking. Both diligent in his pursuit for evidence.

"Goodfellow!" Sullivan bellowed.

In an instant the sergeant was there in the doorway in time to see Sullivan placing something in an evidence bag.

"Did the DCs check this room?" Sully stood with a scowl on his face.

"They should have," Goodfellow answered him quietly.

"I don't believe they did," Sullivan spat out through gritted teeth.

He stood and shoved the bag in front of Goodfellow's face.

"This is a hair. A _long_ hair. A hair that I suspect came from a woman. To my knowledge Mr. Weaver was not married. Am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, where did this hair come from? It could be nothing, or it could belong to the killer."

"A woman?" Goodfellow sounded skeptical.

"Yes, sergeant a woman." Sullivan said. "I've been suspicious of that fact for a while now."

"Why didn't you mention it before?"

"I had no evidence. Just the musings of a dubious priest." Sullivan rolled his eyes and Goodfellow nodded in understanding.

"Well, with that being said, come see what I found in the kitchen."

Tom followed him and watched as he pulled a teacup from the sink. Dark purple lipstick stained the edge of the cup. Tom felt a cold fear wash over him because he knew he'd seen that color before. That combined with the long black hair he pulled from the bed confirmed enough for him.

"Follow me, and bring that cup!" he ordered.

He ran to the car with Goodfellow on his heels. Unlike the first time he believed Emma to be in danger, he was cool and calm. He rationally explained to Goodfellow what was happening as they sped towards the B&B.

"Emma has a new guest staying. A woman. She showed up the day after Donald Weaver's murder. She has black hair and wears dark purple lipstick. She's been hanging around, and watching us I think."

"Watching you what?" Goodfellow asked innocently.

Tom shot him a look, "Just...watching us."

Goodfellow wasn't convinced, but now wasn't the time to bring it up.

Tom sped towards the B&B. He parked a block away and ran. He ran towards what he feared was danger. It's what he signed up for so long ago. Being a police officer was all he ever wanted. He was a fool back then. He really thought he could have it all. A wife, a family, and the job. The war showed him that life, such as it is, takes no prisoners.

He came back broken. He fought for so long to overcome the thoughts, the images that tormented him. A suspect once mused that he came to Kembleford to escape an overbearing father, but that was never the case. He came to Kembleford to escape himself.

He would run forever.

He didn't want to arouse suspicion so he walked right through the front door. Like he had hundreds of times before he hung his hat and jacket on the rack. He went upstairs, quietly. The door to Augustina's room was closed. He laid his ear against it and listened. It was all quiet. No sound of movement.

He walked downstairs in search of Emma. He needed to get her out of the house if at all possible. It seemed too quiet. It was never loud, but something about this silence was sinister.

"Is that you Inspector?" a voice called.

He wasn't one to get nervous, but in that moment he felt unsure. He followed the voice down the hall and into the kitchen. Emma was sitting at the table with her back towards him. Her guest was seated opposite of her, facing him head on.

"You're home early," she told him.

He swallowed hard, "I just came to see Emma,"

"I'll bet," Augustina winked wickedly at him.

As he entered the room he saw the scene before him was not what it seemed. Emma's hands were bound in her lap. Tears streamed down her face. Augustina held a gun pointed towards her on the table.

"As it so happens you're interrupting our little chat," the evil woman said smoothly.

"Put the gun down," Sullivan cautioned her.

She ignored him, "You don't look surprised."

"I'm not."

"Tell me, what was it that gave me away?" she waved the gun carelessly.

He was starting to sweat. His eyes flitted to Emma. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she answered quietly.

"She is perfectly well. We're just having a chat. Woman to woman." Augustina patted her hand, "Isn't that right, dear?"

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this!"

"On the contrary, she saw me coming out of your room. She thought she was going to call you, so...as you see I couldn't let that happen. However, here you are anyway." she shrugged, "Now tell me..."

Sullivan tried walking closer to Emma, but each time he stepped she raised the gun to Emma's head. He couldn't take that chance. He'd told Goodfellow to wait outside so he could escort Emma to safety, but that was before. Now he was alone with a killer, and no back up. With Emma's, not to mention his own, life in the balance.

"Firstly, I was suspicious when you called me out as a police officer. I never said I was."

"Your slut could have mentioned it," she said with a smile.

"But she didn't, did she?"

"She didn't mention much at all. At first I was doubtful there was anything going on between the two of you. You hid it so well," she shook her head in awe.

"You were in my room. Am I right?" he wiped the sweat from his brow.

She stood from the table. The gun still aimed on Emma.

"I just wanted to do a bit of snooping, dearie. No harm done." she chuckled.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No. Turns out you didn't have much on me,"

"Please just, just let Emma go."

His eyes locked onto Emma's. He'd put her in danger and he'd never forgive himself.

"You do exhaust me Inspector. I already told you I can't let her leave." she swung the gun towards him, "Nor you, I'm afraid. Although I must say...what a waste." she looked him up and down.

"Why?" he asked.

"Dominoes." she shrugged.

"Jeffrey Weaver was just one in a line of projects. When his brother decided to stop by he saw what I was up to. There was no love lost between them, so he couldn't have cared less."

"Then why kill Donald?!" Sullivan demanded.

"Little rat decided to try and blackmail me into sleeping with him. It was easier all 'round to be done with him."

"So you followed him here."

"I did, and I decided to stick around."

Tom looked from her to Emma, "Why?"

"I wanted to see what the local coppers had on me, if anything. Couldn't believe my luck when I discovered you lived in this very house!" she cackled.

"So you started snooping in my room, and spying on Emma and I,"

She shrugged, "But, now I fear it is time for me to move on."

She slowly swung the gun back toward Emma.

"No!" Sullivan shouted.

She pulled the trigger.

_**Oh those poor babies.**_


	10. The Aftermath

_**I don't consider my story AU, but the storyline does differ from the actual timeline so take that however you will.**_

**Chapter Ten**

_"In this world there's real and make believe, and this seems real to me."_

"No!" Tom roared as Emma slumped from the chair.

He caught her head before it hit the ground, but the damage was done. Crimson blood flowed from her chest and onto his blue suit. It gushed onto the floor, slowly seeping further and further away. He cradled her head in his hands.

"T-Tom," she gasped.

"I'm here," he assured her.

His face was tense, his features tight. "What have you done!?" he shouted.

"Don't be so dramatic, _Inspector_." Augustina licked her lips and turned the gun on him.

He stood, Emma's blood dripping from his hands.

"She needs a doctor! Now! Don't do this, please! She's innocent."

Augustina shook her head slowly. "You're very gallant, but I'm afraid your charm has worn off."

Then unexpectedly, Sergeant Goodfellow burst through the door in the kitchen. For one split second both Tom and Augustina's eyes were drawn to his presence before Tom lunged at her, and they struggled for the gun. It went off twice, but Tom managed to shove her hard knocking the gun out of her hand. They both saw and scrambled for the gun, but Tom was quicker. He dove for the gun.

He was panting as he expertly manuevered the weapon. He rolled over onto his side toward her.

"Don't move," he warned her.

She took another step.

"Stop!"

She charged toward him, and he had no choice. He squeezed the trigger and fired once. He watched as her body dropped instantly to the floor beside him. He exhaled hard and rolled away from her. He scrambled on his knees over to Emma.

Emma's hands rested weakly on top of her wound.

"Bring the car!" Tom shouted to Goodfellow who was kneeling beside her.

The sergeant sped out the door.

"I'm cold," her words came out on a stutter. She was shaking. Her skin fading to gray.

"Hold on, love."

Tom picked her up in his arms and carried her out the front door just as Goodfellow screeched to a stop in front of the house. He helped Tom slide her into the back seat with her head on his lap. They sped away to the hospital.

For the rest of his life he would never forget staring down into those emerald eyes. The ride seemed like it took hours. Tom had seen men with lesser wounds die in combat. He gripped her hand and told her everything was fine, but deep down...he knew there was a good chance he would lose her.

They arrived at the hospital and Goodfellow laid on the horn. The trauma team took her away, leaving Goodfellow and Sullivan standing alone. Tom felt like he might collapse. He grabbed Goodfellow's shoulder as his knees buckled.

"Sir!" Goodfellow's tone conveyed his concern.

"I'm fine, Sergeant." Sullivan muttered.

"Sir,"

"I said I'm fine!" Tom shouted.

"Sir, I think you've been hit," Goodfellow said frantically.

Tom suddenly saw stars. He felt Goodfellow's firm grip on his arm, but then...nothing.

Emma opened her eyes to a bright white room. Her eyelids felt so heavy, like she'd been sleeping for years. Then, it started coming back piece by piece. The woman, her questions about Tom, the gun. It hurt to breathe, to move. She managed to get the attention of a nurse by kicking her foot back and forth.

"Oh my! Mrs. Kennedy you're awake!" the nurse said.

She turned on her heel and sprinted from the room. She returned a moment later trailing a doctor.

"Mrs. Kennedy, you gave us quite a scare. I'm so glad you're awake. How are you feeling?" the doctor leaned down and checked her eyes and her pulse.

Emma's mouth felt dry. "T-Tom?" she questioned.

Hey eyes scanned what she could see of the room and found he wasn't there. Suddenly, she felt as if she couldn't breathe. She felt a burning heaviness in her chest.

"Settle yourself, Mrs. Kennedy," the doctor told her.

"Emma," she choked out, "My name is Emma."

Then, the pain was overwhelming. Before she knew it her arm had a cold sensation and her eyes grew heavy. She didn't feel as if the pain subsided at all, but when she woke up it was all dark outside. Once again she rolled her head from side to side searching for him, but she didn't have to search long.

From out of the darkness into the light of her bedside lamp he emerged. His arm was in a sling and he wasn't wearing his vest or jacket. He looked nothing like the Inspector Sullivan she was accustomed to seeing. She knew at once, as the relief washed over her that she loved him.

"Thank God," she whispered hoarsely.

Tom put a straw to her lips. She drank down cold water like she'd been living in the desert.

"Easy," he warned her.

"What happened?" she asked.

He sat himself in the chair beside her bed, and held her hand.

"It seems our guest was a murderer."

Emma nodded. She remembered that much. He saw the concern in her eyes at his arm.

"Shoulder wound. It went clean through. I'm fine,"

He smoothed his hand over her pale cheek.

"And me?" she questioned.

"You were shot in the chest, very near your heart." he sighed, "It's a miracle you're still here," he muttered to himself.

He had a far away look in his eyes. It scared her. He looked like a man whose whole belief system had been shattered.

"Tom?" she whispered.

He turned his attention back to her.

"Is she...dead?"

Emma wasn't sure what answer she would have preferred, but she was certain that it wasn't what he told her.

"I don't think so,"

Emma was getting tired. Too tired to speak so she waited for him to go on.

"When the police got there after we left she was gone,"

Emma's pulse quickened. She looked panicked so Tom reached out and took her hand.

"It's all right. She won't get very far. I wounded her. There's no way she could survive that. The doctor's told me I could stay until you woke up, but now I have to go," he let his hand fall away, and he didn't look her in the eye as he left.

She heard his footsteps echoing all the way down the hall. She missed him, but it was worse to see his spirit so...stunned. Crushed, maybe? It could just be the trauma of the evening, or maybe the medication. She felt sick and sad, but mostly tired. Soon her eyes closed and she fell asleep.

Tom left the hospital and joined the police force in searching for their missing suspect. Goodfellow was in his ear constantly telling him to take it easy, and trying to convince him to go home and rest. It was no use and he finally told his sergeant that much.

It was past midnight, and cold. Tom's shoulder was aching so badly. He _had_ to find her. If he didn't he would never feel safe leaving Emma alone ever again. Not to mention himself. No, Augustina Webb knew where they lived both literally and figuratively. He had to find her.


	11. The Coldness

**Chapter Eleven**

_**"**__Say what you want just don't say that you're leaving."_

_Two Hours Later_

Tom washed the blood from his hand. The coppery liquid had dried and hardened under his fingernails. The sink in his bathroom was red. The bar of soap, stained. He scrubbed furiously in the sink before moving to the shower. He tossed his clothes and sling into the trash and stepped into the hot spray. Hotter. It needed to be hotter. He needed to burn away what he was feeling. He scrubbed his hand, and arms clean, the hot water stinging his fingers. He washed his hair. The soap running down his blood stained chest, collecting into pink suds in the tub.

When he was finished he collapsed into bed. His mind was so exhausted, and his body was in so much pain that he quickly passed out. A dreamless sleep overtook him and he did not awake until the late morning sun was shining through his window.

He let out a low groan of pain as he rolled out of bed. He looked at his watch. Past ten in the morning. Then again...he didn't get to sleep until after two. He got dressed, and glanced at his bloodstained sling in the trash bin. He'd have to make due without it. Maybe the hospital could spot him a new one. He wanted to see Emma. He was afraid he might not be able to look her in the eye, but still..he wanted to make sure she was well.

The hospital was busy. Nurses and doctors coming and going. Nobody noticed him as he slipped to Emma's bedside. She was awake, staring at the ceiling.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as he stood over her bed.

She managed a weak smile that let him know she wasn't feeling well at all.

"It hurts, but I'll live," she whispered.

"Well, I'm glad of that," he pulled up a chair next to her bed. "I wanted to let you know that we located Ms. Webb,"

Her eyes widened, "Really? And? I mean is she-"

"She's dead."

Emma's hand was trembling as he reached for it. Their kiss in the kitchen felt like years ago now. Whatever was getting started between he and Emma felt strained now, or perhaps it was only him. Last night, this morning had each taken their toll. He felt incredibly vulnerable.

Weak.

"So, how long 'till you're out of here?" he asked casually.

"I'm not sure," she said on a ragged breath.

They sat in silence for a while. Emma rubbed her thumb over Tom's hand.

"I just want you to know...I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry, Emma,"

She weakly squeezed his hand, "It wasn't your fault!"

"I should have been more aware,"

He didn't know what else to say.

"Nevermind that, Where is your sling?" she asked.

"I, uh, lost it during the search last night. Actually I need to see about getting a new one. If you'll excuse me," he stood quickly and walked towards the doors.

Through the haze of pain, and pain medication Emma could tell Tom wasn't himself. The eyes she once thought of as icy were now dim and dull. She missed his presence the moment he was gone.

Tom slipped into his office without anyone seeing. The officers under his command were still very much exhausted from their pursuits last night. He'd been avoiding this moment, but he couldn't put it off any longer. Time to call Scotland Yard and tell his superiors the news.

An hour later he hung up the phone. A relief settled onto his shoulders. That part was over, now on to the rest of what he had to do. He went back to the B&B. Some of his officers were still there. He acknowledged them and made his way upstairs. How many times had he climbed these steps? Too many to count. Day after day and night after night. He'd grown comfortable with Emma, and she had with him as well.

He was blindsided by his feelings for her. He was blindsided by a lot of things. His heart was breaking. He knew this feeling too well. This is what he had tried to avoid for years. He was in love with Emma. For all he knew it could have been happening all along, and he only just realized. Mortal danger tends to reveal one's true feelings.

He heard a knock on his door frame and looked up to see Goodfellow.

"How are you, sir?"

"Perfectly well, Sergeant."

"I brought you a new sling like you asked," Goodfellow handed over the fresh white linen.

"Thank you," Tom said as he wrapped it around his shoulder and under his arm.

Goodfellow smiled as a response and turned to go.

Tom watched him wistfully as he looked around his room.

He was utterly lost.


	12. The Coward

**Chapter Twelve**

_"I think about you baby, and I dream about you all the time."_

Tom stepped out of the yellow cab, and slammed the door before the cab sped away. The sound of automobiles chugging along the crowded streets filled his ears. He pulled his hat down and headed to inspect his new hotel room. The last one was way below standards. The streets were crowded with people.

London was worse than he remembered. Everything seemed dingy and somewhat broken. In Kembleford every thing had its own place. Cursed little parish. He was ill-suited there from the start! He knew it. Every one knew it. He broke his own rules and got comfortable there.

_And look what it cost you_...

Too much.

It cost him things he swore he wasn't willing to give. But he had given hadn't he? Now here he was, back in a place he had no desire to be and awaiting his new assignment from Scotland Yard. He wanted to go to some tiny little village where no one knew his name. He wanted to run as far as he could. It would all depend on what his bosses said today.

His mind went to Emma for the hundredth time that day. All the old familiar thoughts funneled their way through. What was she doing? How was her hair styled? Probably in a bun, he thought to himself. Newer thoughts came as well. Was she still in the hospital? How was she healing? Did she miss him? Did she know?

He considered asking Sergeant Goodfellow to relay the information to him, but it was easier to make a clean break. No contact with anyone from his former life. He wasn't doing well, but then again he'd seen darker times than this. He couldn't remember when, but surely he had.

He made his way to his hotel room and shut the door. This was much better than the last place. He glanced at his watch. He had enough time to shower before his meeting with his boss. Once more his mind went to her...

Emma used her cane to help steady herself as she made her way home. After two weeks in the hospital she was finally well enough to be released. She had longed for this day. The road to recovery was more rocky than she ever imagined. A few terrifying setbacks had almost driven all the hope from her.

Still she persisted. She turned the knob to the B&B and stepped into the foyer. It didn't smell the same. She went straight down the hall and headed for her bedroom where she saw a note taped to the door. She took it down and carried it with her to the bed where she sat and opened it.

_Emma,_  
_I've kicked myself a thousand times for this, but it's not use. By now you know I am a coward. I'm bound for a new job and I don't expect I shall return to Kembleford. I hate myself for this, but I know it's for the best. Just know I'll think of your green eyes often...and I wanted to say that I love you. Right now you probably wish I was dead, but I do hope that someday you'll see I really did care for you._  
_Sincerely Yours, Tom._

Emma calmly folded the letter back into its envelope. He was correct in assuming she knew of his departure. When he didn't come back to see her, and when all the nurses began whispering around her she had guessed it. While her heart was truly broken, she put all her energry into healing. Heartbreak could come later, or if she was lucky...never.

She tossed the letter on her desk. There was only one thing left to do...she would start the process of moving on. For over a year she hadn't lived alone. She and Tom may not have shared the same bed, but they shared a home. He was gone now and it was all she could do not to break down.

She hoped that where ever he was now he was happy.

_**A short chapter to end our story. A bitter ending I'm afraid. **_

_**Lyrics- 3 Doors Down**_


End file.
